


Touch Me (Like You Don't Know It Hurts)

by SashaDistan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (but only a little bit) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Anxiety, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Cuddling & Snuggling, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Has a Praise Kink, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Keith (Voltron) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Oblivious, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Top Shiro (Voltron), Touching, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27841720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SashaDistan/pseuds/SashaDistan
Summary: Shiro knows that Keith is suffering, and his anxiety seems to be alleviated whenever they touch. So he makes it his mission to be touching Keith all the time.Which works great, except that this isn't normal anxiety, and casual hugging can only delay a Galra's heat for so long...
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 295
Collections: Merry Sheithmas 2020





	Touch Me (Like You Don't Know It Hurts)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarryBites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryBites/gifts).



> Written for the Sheithmas 2020 gift exchange.
> 
> I had great fun working with my giftees requests for fluff and hurt comfort. You're right that Keith's PTSD doesn't get touched on enough, and that was really fun to incorporate, along with his "Galra-ness making him into an omega" as you requested. The whump is only a little one though, soft-whump if you will.  
> Happy Holidays!

Trauma and suffering aren’t a competition. Comparing pain doesn’t make the sufferer of the ‘lesser’ injury hurt any less. But automatically, people either cling to their experiences as more awful than others, or tuck their nightmares away in the belief that they should be stronger, because someone else has it so much worse.

Arguably, Shiro has it worse than anyone. And that is definitely the public perception.

After a planet-wide invasion by a hostile intergalactic empire, there is no one left alive without some kind of trauma. There are whole places – the western half of the former United States for example – which simply no longer exist. The Fire of Purification laid waste to everything it touched.

For Shiro – blasted into space, taken captive, forced to kill in order to survive, then escaping and falling back to earth just in time to convince everyone he wasn’t dead or crazy just before the war came crashing through their atmosphere – his trauma is something he’s lived with for a long time. He goes to therapy, he works on his mind as well as his body, he looks at his reflection and reminds himself that he is more than his scars, and his prosthetic, and his stress-white forelock.

He wakes sweating in the night with the sounds of Zarkon’s arena roaring in his ears. He keeps himself turned towards the door in every room he enters.

He smiles, he talks in public broadcasts about healing and striving forwards, and it’s not all empty promises, because he isn’t reliving the nightmares of his past all the time, and there are more good days than bad now. He trains because he enjoys it, not because someone is forcing a sword into his hand. And he hasn’t picked up a firearm in eight months. It feels good.

He feels good.

Which is why it’s such a shock to see Keith visibly flinch when the door behind him is slammed just a fraction too hard by a Cadet clearly pissed off at having been reprimanded by someone who – in their eyes – didn’t have the sticking power to make it to graduation.

Never mind that Keith was grappling with his best friend being dead, not dead, and then finding out he is half Galra. Shiro cannot imagine there is a good way to discover your mother is a seven-foot-tall purple alien, but he doubts it’s during the invasion of your planet by said alien species. Krolia crashed to earth – much like Shiro did – and proceeded to save Keith, Shiro, and their friends from an unexpected enemy attack.

“Hey, Keith.”

“Shiro…”

Keith slumps. His bearing is still as upright as ever, but there is an unspooling of his muscles, an ease in the line of his shoulders and chest, and it warms Shiro’s heart to see it. If it wasn’t for the fact that he has known Keith for so long – and spent so much of that time focused on him, more than is either professional or strictly friendly – Shiro doesn’t think he would’ve seen it. But he does.

Keith slinks into the open space made by the curve of Shiro’s outstretched arm, and Shiro’s lets his hand rest in the familiar space on Keith shoulder, thumb brushing the soft curve of his neck.

“Everything OK?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Shiro waits. Right from the beginning, he found it has always been worth waiting for Keith to open up voluntarily. Nothing can be forced out of the boy. Keith was never tortured for information by the Galra, and a good thing too, because Shiro is sure their equipment would have broken long before Keith did.

Keith exhales in a huff, blowing his inky bangs from his face for a moment.

“It’s bad enough that the Garrison basically made me prove over and over than I wasn’t secretly working for the Empire, but the fucking Cadets could at least act like they remember I was a student here.” Keith digs his fists into the pockets of his leather jacket – it was once Shiro’s jacket, but it doesn’t fit him any longer – and scuffs his boot against the floor. “They always treated me like an alien. I guess now at least they have an excuse.”

“Keith!” Shiro gives his friend a little shake, just enough to get Keith to meet his eyes. “You belong here. No one can take that from you. Earth is your home for as long as you want it to be.”

“Thanks, Shiro.”

“That’s not even a thing you need to thank me for.” Shiro smiles when Keith ducks his head, knowing Keith cannot see the pride which he knows is blooming over his expression. “You wanna come grab lunch with me? Hoverbikes and cheeseburgers?”

That gets Keith to perk up, his grin the same feral, sharp toothed joy he wore at sixteen when Shiro had first offered him a race across the desert.

“You’re on, Hotshot!”

*

After that, Shiro starts to notice things.

He has always noticed things about Keith, always been attuned to the younger man’s presence in a room, but now though the things Shiro sees make his heart warm, he wonders what it is he is missing for those reactions to have to happen.

Shiro walks into a meeting and the tenseness leaves Keith’s spine.

Shiro says Keith’s name and Keith’s smile turns brighter.

Shiro puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder and the boy sighs like he’s been keyed up for hours.

And so, because Shiro did not become the greatest pilot of his generation – not counting Keith – by not being both dedicated and observant, Shiro looks closer.

And what he sees makes his heart pound in his chest, rocking him to his core like the blasts of a pulse cannon.

Someone shouts – Keith flinches.

A door bangs open behind him, Cadets late for a lesson rush past – Keith’s hand flashes to his belt, moving to grab his bayard, his eyes wide with fear to find it missing.

Keith is on the training deck at three in the morning, smashing his way through a fight simulator – he swears when Shiro enters, jolting is surprise. They end up slumped against the wall, sharing memories of _before_ until the sun comes up.

Keith is at the big, open-air market which has developed just outside of the main Garrison grounds. It is a hubbub of human and alien species, everyone selling trinkets, essential consumables, and food. Shiro sees him considering options from the picture menu of an Arusian looks-like-barbecue stall, but he’s just too far away to wave in greeting when a snatch of passing conversation _‘far too fucking Galra for my taste’_ drops him like a stone.

And the realisation hits Shiro with the force of a thrown punch. It is not self-centred or aggrandising, because now that Shiro is looking properly, the truth is painfully obvious.

Whenever they are apart, Keith is stressed.

Shiro knows what trauma looks like, he doesn't need anyone to tell him that Keith has PTSD.

It's not surprising. They all do. Everyone on the planet does in one way or another. Although those of them who were more directly – if mostly unwillingly – involved have more specific and definable issues. Pidge does her therapy via the web, because face to face contact has never been her thing. Matt goes to group sessions, and Hunk goes too. He started out just baking the snacks for Matt to take along, and then lingered. It is good for them both. Shiro knows that Hunk often thinks what he went through wasn't as bad as other people; because of the six of them thrown up into space, he was the least embroiled in combat. That his home islands and family were largely unscathed by the planet-wide destruction is a blessing for which they are all thankful.

They all do something for their trauma, but whatever Keith is doing, it's clearly either not enough, or not quite hitting the spot. He has PTSD and anxiety, and the anxiety is getting worse.

Shiro is many things: pilot, astronaut, former gladiator, Golden Boy of the Galaxy Garrison and apparent ‘ _defender of the universe’,_ if the newsreels are to be believed. But one of the things he is not, is a therapist.

Shiro is loath to get anyone else involved though. The rest of their little team – two sets of friends who had been propelled into space and thrown together to help defend their corner of the universe from a deadly invading force – all think Keith doesn’t really like people. And maybe it’s true. Even Matt – whom has known Keith almost as long as Shiro has – describes his as spiky.

But Keith likes Shiro, and the way he lists into Shiro’s side as soon as they are touching assures Shiro of his assumption.

Keith needs him around more often. And that’s fine with Shiro.

More than fine.

They already spend all their free time together, or near enough, and it’s hardly a hassle at all for Shiro to lean over the desk and get his new secretary to shift things around in their schedules so that all of their meetings match up. The Captain of the Atlas Fleet and the Delegate to the Blade of Marmora are required for most of the same things anyway. It doesn’t take more than an hour for Shiro to make it so that the only times when they aren’t together are either when Keith is with the Blades, or when they are both free.

And so, begins Shiro’s carefully considered plan to assist his best friend. If Keith is happiest when Shiro is touching him, then Shiro will always be touching him.

A hand on Keith’s shoulder is easy, familiar, grounding.

A hug which lasts a few seconds too long is nothing out of the ordinary.

When they sit together at lunch, Shiro chooses the seat next to Keith, rather than across from him, and presses his leg up against Keith’s from ankle to knee. Keith doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move away, but the tightness between his brows smooths away. Within moments they are laughing and joking about how the Garrison successfully helped expel invading alien forces, but still can’t make meatloaf which isn’t shit.

In meetings their chairs are side by side, they always have been, but now Shiro uses the blunt end of his PADD stylus to stroke up and down the little curves of Keith’s knuckles through the material of his gloves. And even though it’s not skin on skin or anything so direct, it still works. Keith listens intently to whoever is speaking, takes notes, offers advice or criticism in his usual clipped tones, but there’s no worry on his face.

Keith comes with him to observe and grade the latest batch of mixed species Cadets, on the very flight sim that Matt and Pidge reprogrammed after Shiro and Keith broke all the records. Shiro leans against the back wall of the observation room and tilts his head in welcome when Keith enters. The technician slams the sim door and Keith jolts away from the noise. But the moment he settles into the space Shiro has made for him, his body goes soft, neck curving until his face is pressed into the shoulder padding of Shiro’s jacket. Shiro has the feeling that if he reached out, Keith’s flesh would be plaint and welcoming in his grasp.

The only times Shiro cannot be with Keith are when they are sleeping and when Keith is with the Blades.

The Blade of Marmora are the rebel outfit who broke Shiro out of Zarkon’s cells, just in time for him to warn his planet danger was coming before it crashed down around them. They were the ones to whom Shiro, Keith and the others had returned to after Keith’s mother had saved them from certain death. It is only thanks to them, and the considerable efforts of their leader Kolivan, that the human race does not actually think _all_ aliens and _all_ Galra are evil. Galra still have the hardest time being accepted wherever they go on the planet though, and Shiro hates the lingering resentment for something only some of their species did. It’s not like, _all_ humans are paragons of virtue, after all.

Keith is their liaison – because he is half-Galra – and he’s the only human-looking person who can interact with the Galra tech, so the Garrison needs him. Some in the chain of command do not like that they are beholden to the young man who quit part way through the school year in a spectacularly rebellious fashion after Shiro’s abduction. But he did help save the universe from an evil empire, and they don’t have a lot of choice.

Neither does Shiro, because though Kolivan and several other Blades like him well enough, he is not invited to their meetings or their training program. The Blades have a permanent base now – or as permanent as a base can be when it is inside a very large spacecraft which could take off at any time – next to the Garrison, and Shiro has made sure his schedule allows him the time and freedom to walk Keith to the door each time. And Keith does not seem duly distressed when Shiro meets him afterwards, in the company of familiar faces: Kolivan, Antok, sometimes Regris with his ever-swishing tail. Keith is animated and happy with them.

Regardless of his personal mission to keep Keith’s PTSD related anxiety at bay, Shiro cannot actually schedule them to sleep together.

Two weeks in, and the only hard thing in Shiro’s new Keith-centric schedule is himself, and the propensity of his dick to start getting inappropriately erect at very inopportune moments.

*

Shiro’s PADD pings. It is fully dark out, and with how bleary Shiro feels behind the eyelids, he would guess it’s about four in the morning. But he is already reaching for his PADD – the screen set to the lowest brightness – because the only reason it makes a noise during night hours is for either a Garrison-wide emergency beacon, or for Keith.

_Keith: u up?_

_Shiro: yes. Where can I meet you?_

He is almost hoping that Keith will ask him to come to his room, because if he’s been awake long enough to finally message Shiro, then he is also going to be chronically short on sleep come morning. Hard as it is for Shiro to keep his hands – if not his thoughts, those dived into the gutter long ago – in appropriate places, he would rather lay beside Keith in bed and watch the other man sleep than do anything else.

_Keith: gym?_

_Shiro: I’ll be right there._

Four minutes, one hasty brushing of teeth and a pair of sweatpants instead of ratty pyjama bottoms later, Shiro catches a glimpse of Keith just approaching the door of the gym. It is technically open all hours, but right now, the only people awake in the Garrison are those on night-shift, and Shiro and Keith.

Keith is dressed in athletic leggings and the same oversized, scoop-neck tee Shiro is fairly certain he sleeps in. He is beautiful – Keith is always beautiful – but he looks, bad. Shiro makes his next exhale deliberately loud, and he sees Keith shiver as he turns.

“Shiro…”

“Hey, Keith. You OK?” Shiro presses the back of his hand to Keith’s forehead. He feels clammy and hot, but his cheeks are not flushed. “No good sleep to be found?”

Keith frowns at him, lower lip held between his teeth in an adorable half-pout.

“Don’t sweat it, buddy.” Shiro forces the jovial nickname, to stop himself from saying something stupid and intimate. He lets the hand on Keith’s forehead slip down to squeeze his shoulder. Keith leans into it, like it’s automatic. “You wanna run? Or spar?”

“Spar. Please.”

The gym lights flick on as they enter, but only to half brightness. Enough to see by, but not enough to blind. They stretch together on the mats, soles pressed against one another as they bend and flex. Shiro hovers beside Keith as though concerned when the boy lifts his leg up behind his head, even though he knows Keith can balance on a quarter and fold himself in half without trouble. That last fact has been haunting him when he tries to sleep.

They move apart to start the match, though not far, and Shiro smiles as Keith goes for his traditional opening strike. This isn’t a match to best each other – it’s too early and they’re both too tired – it’s more of a dance. Shiro forces Keith’s blow to glance off to the side, then his best friend is turning under his outstretched arm, and Shiro spins to catch his ankle when Keith raises his foot. Neither of them tip off balance, and Keith uses his momentum to aim another punch which Shiro catches. Keith grins, and it’s easy and soft despite the hour, and Shiro returns his smile.

Keith stops mid pace to shake his limbs out and the neckline of his shirt slips off one shoulder. Shiro tries not to think about the soft curves of his collarbone or the slight swell of his bicep. He fails.

They are mid hold when the door of the main gym bangs open. The noise causes Keith to wince, flinching away from Shiro and his touch, and Shiro rounds with a curse, ready to tear whatever thoughtless Cadet or minor officer to shreds for the noise and interruption.

But it is Regris striding through the door, PADD in hand, long blue scaled tail swinging behind him. His grey and purple Blade uniform looks like he slept in it.

“I was in the comm lab and I-” The Galra stops in his tracks, bare two-toed feet digging into the edge of the training mat nearest the door. “Why is Keith here?” He blinks, eyes fixing on Keith, huddled behind Shiro. “You should be in bed.”

Shiro doesn’t miss the way that Keith shivers. The joy from sparring seems to dwindle, and suddenly Keith looks fatigued again.

“Can’t sleep.” Keith mutters.

Shiro steps forwards, about to ask Regris what it is he actually came here for, but Regris’ gaze snaps back to the Keith, his jaw tight, ears pressing back into his skull.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Regris takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring. He turns to Shiro with a growl in his tone. “What the heck is wrong with you? Is he suddenly not good enough for you?”

Shiro wants to punch the lanky Galra. Keith quivers.

“Regris, _don’t_ -” Keith’s tone is whine.

“He doesn’t smell like you!” Regris snaps at Shiro, tail lashing. “You were doing so well with all the touching and stuff, but you’re not even grooming each other. It’s not like you can just stave off his heat forever with casual hugging!”

Shiro’s brain misfires.

“His- what?”

Behind him, Keith makes a noise of distress that has Shiro’s heart clenching with panic in his chest. Regris rolls his eyes so hard, Shiro swears the gesture actually has its own sound effect.

“Keith’s in heat. He needs you.” Regris glances toward Keith. “You didn’t realise? Fucking hell Kit-! I know your Mom gave you the sex talk.”

Keith looks like he’s going to be sick.

“You didn’t think it applied to you… because you’re human? Aww shit.”

Shiro is torn between his desire to punch Regris and make him shut up, or to go to Keith to reassure him. Keith makes another high pitched, unhappy sound. Just now, Shiro really wishes he had a detachable arm so he could do both.

But he doesn’t, and Keith is more important. Shiro goes to him, and the moment his fingers smooth over Keith’s collarbone and his shoulder, Keith sighs and leans heavily into him.

Regris throws up his hands in despair.

“Oh for-! Would you just get on and fuck him already, please? He whimpers whenever you’re not there and it’s driving the rest of us insane!”

Shiro stares at Regris, then at Keith, and the words _heat_ , _sickness_ , and _fuck_ pass through his head about two dozen times in quick succession. Standard biology and anthropology texts in the digital archives around the world have been massively updated in recent times, with new alien species arriving on the planet with their cultures, food, traditions, and varied bodies all the time. One of Shiro’s first indulgences of free-time after they got back to earth was to read up on the half of his best friend which none of them had known about.

Galra come in types – in addition to being male and female – and if Keith has heats, then he is an omega. And heats are… for sex. For mating.

Even under Shiro’s touch, Keith is shivering, but his skin is flushed hot.

Regris snorts.

“Seriously. Take him back to his room and fuck his brains out. Or I’ll barricade you in here and you can do it. Whatever. He’d be happier in his nest though.” Regris flattens his nose with his hand, displeasure passing over his expression. “His scent is all over sour because he’s not getting what he needs.” When Shiro still doesn’t move, Regris’ tail cracks like a whip. “You want one of the other Blades to do it instead? He won’t want to – he wants it to be you – but soon enough it’s not going to matter to his body. You’ve been putting it off too long!”

Shiro’s remaining brains cells get it together long enough to fire a genuine thought through his head – Keith needs him – right before he follows it up by growling at Regris. The scaly Galra takes it all in stride however, and steps back, keeping his gaze carefully neutral.

“Good for you, mark your territory. I’m not between you and the door.” And he isn’t, because whilst they’ve been speaking Regris has slid to the side without fanfare, leaving a clear path to the main exit of the gym. “Go, claim your omega, Captain.”

Beside him, curled into the space under his arm, Keith whimpers.

“Shi-”

“Shhh… I got you.”

Shiro does not remember deciding to scoop Keith up into his arms, or recall the walk back to Keith’s quarters, or know when Keith tucked his head under Shiro’s chin and made a home for himself snuggling up to Shiro’s pecs. But all of these things undoubtedly happen, because Shiro lays Keith down on his bed and the moment he lets go, Keith makes a high-pitched sound of utter distress. All thoughts of fetching water, or more blankets, or anything else, fade from Shiro’s mind instantly. He kneels onto the bed to catch Keith’s hand, and the boy rolls and curls around his thighs.

“Keith?” Shiro fights the urge to stroke through Keith’s hair, it’s probably not appropriate right now. “What can I do?”

“’m fine,” comes the automatic, tiny reply. Keith is clearly anything but.

“Keith…”

“It’ll be over in a couple of days. I’ll manage.”

Shiro has the distinct feeling the only reason Keith is able to string a whole sentence together is because he is mouthing at the fabric of Shiro’s sweats, one hand tucking itself into the crease behind his knee.

But Keith is also the most stubborn person to have ever lived.

“It’s better if I’m touching you, right?” Shiro enquires, trying to keep his tone light, trying to stop his cock from lurching to over- excited attention, trying not to think of all the ways he could touch Keith if Keith wanted him too.

Keith makes a miserable noise, but nods.

“Then it’s OK. I’ll touch you, however you need.”

The sound Keith produces then is akin to a sob.

“You don’t want me to?” Shiro asks, the dread like a cold, hard thing in his stomach.

“It’s not-” Keith is so muffled, Shiro has to bend double to hear him, bracing with one hand on the opposite side of the mattress to keep from just crashing full on into Keith. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Keith…”

Keith seemed shocked at Regris’ words in the gym, but Shiro wonders if his friend hadn’t suspected what was wrong and – in his very own brand of denial – pushed it aside in favour of working and training. Keith is very good at assuming that everyone and everything he doesn’t want to deal with, can just be ignored until it goes away on its own. But the idea that Keith was content to suffer through his heat makes Shiro mad – even if the only person he has to be mad with is Keith.

“Keith, we’re friends.” _Best friends_. “You could have told me. Of course, I want to help.” _I’ll do anything for you._ “I care about you.” _I love you._

Keith shifts, just enough to look up at him, his pretty, galaxy studded eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. Shiro hates to see him so upset, and he smooths his fingers across Keith’s forehead and pushes his unruly bangs back from his face without hesitation. Keith makes a soft, wonderful sound – something between a purr and a mewl, a little chirrup of satisfaction – and Shiro feels the band of his self-restraint slip ever so slightly.

“Let me help you?”

And finally, with a little audible click as he swallows, Keith nods.

Shiro makes a noise of his own, a rumble of pleasure and pride, and grabs at himself with his remaining willpower. _Do not get ahead of yourself. Patience Takashi… patience._

And that’s easy really, because Shiro would rather throw himself back into space than make Keith feel pressured or uncomfortable with something he did.

“Do you want me to lie down with you?”

Keith whimpers, but strong, compact hands tug at his clothes, bringing him down in a heaped sprawl across Keith’s body. It is not hugely comfortable, but here Shiro will stay if it makes Keith feel better. Keith wriggles, and his whimper turns into a soft snarl of impatience and frustration, until Shiro manages to twist and slot himself in behind him. Keith moulds against his front.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

Shiro gives into temptation and wraps both arms tightly around Keith’s torso, effectively locking him into the position of little spoon. Keith sighs, slumping with relief.

“Actually better?”

“Mmmm.”

“Regris-” Shiro is cut off by a growl from the boy squished against him. “-said something about a nest?”

“Don’t move.”

“Do you want a nest, Keith?”

Keith mutters something indecipherable. It might have been in Galran. Shiro was their prisoner for nearly a year but the language still evades him.

“Baby?”

Keith trills. Shiro freezes. He hadn’t meant to say that. Now is not a good time to say that. There is possibly never going to be a good time to tell his best friend that he’s been secretly nursing a crush on him since they were practically both teenagers. Or that he thinks about Keith often in bed at night, and if he’s being honest with himself, in the shower, during meetings, in the morning, whilst training in the gym, and just about all other times of the day and during most activities regardless of how stressful they are.

There’s always room in Shiro’s brain for more thoughts about Keith.

Keith, who is… purring?

“Keith?”

The purr stutters for a moment, but doesn’t end, and Shiro adjusts his grip slightly, until he has a palm pressed flat to Keith’s chest. The vibration under his hand is akin to a hoverbike engine idling in park.

“Wow.” If anything, the purr takes on a richer, more pleasured note. “Is that for me?” Keith nods, and the angle is just so perfect, that Shiro can’t help himself, and presses a kiss to the top of Keith’s head. His hair is silky smooth. “Baby…”

Keith goes on purring, and Shiro is utterly content to simply hold him close, listen and feel that wonderful sound coming from his chest, and stay there forever. But after only twenty minutes or so, Keith’s purrs fades, until it rumbles out of existence altogether and ends on a whine.

Shiro tries to recall all – which was not a great deal – that he read about Galra omega heats. Regris said he and Keith have been putting Keith’s heat off, which makes Shiro think of escalation. He’d assumed that whatever worked would keep working, but apparently not. Keith whimpers again, and this time the noise is accompanied by the very new and wholly unexpected sensation of Keith wiggling his hips.

Their spooning puts Shiro in an indelicate position, and he shunts his hips backward to try and make space between his enthusiastic cock and Keith’s pert, _wiggling_ , backside. But to no avail. Keith simply scoots into the space Shiro previously occupied, and two more repetitions of this gestures brings Shiro’s spine hard up against the far wall.

“Keith…”

“Shiro.”

“I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

They are, precisely, the wrong words to say, and Shiro realises this the second they leave his lips. Keith freezes, his whole-body going stiff, and then he spins around and pushes away so forcefully that the last Shiro sees of him is his flailing limbs as he falls unceremoniously from the bed.

“ _Keith_.”

“Just go,” comes the muffled whimper, and Shiro gets the feeling his friend is speaking into the carpet. “This isn’t your problem.”

“Keith…” Shiro is crouched at the edge of the bed now, unsure whether to haul Keith back up or follow him down. “Let me help you.”

“Not if you don’t want to be here.”

Shiro feels his heart fracture down the middle. If Keith doesn’t think that he’s the centre of his entire universe, then he really can’t be as obvious with his pining as Matt says.

“Of course, I want to be here, Keith.” _Where else would I be?_

Keith shivers, and even without touching him, Shiro knows his skin will be hotly flushed, and that the shakes which wrack his body this time are far stronger than those which came before. Still, Keith manages to force words out into the silence between them.

“But you don’t want me.”

Keith is – Pidge not withstanding – probably the smartest person Shiro has ever met. He came the Garrison and out of nowhere destroyed every single record Shiro had to his name. He’s brilliant in or on anything with an engine, an almost preternaturally gifted fighter, with speed and endurance to match the fiercest Galra and with far more determination than any of them.

How is it then, that he has taken Shiro’s desire to make him feel safe and secure, and twisted it round into something unrecognisable?

Shiro reaches down, wraps a hand around Keith’s bicep, and yanks him back up onto the bed.

It is more like a fight than their spar was, because Keith wriggles, and he is flexible and strong and it’s like trying to hold onto an oiled python. Shiro moves with him, determined not to let go and equally driven not to fall onto the floor or let Keith do the same. They tussle on the mattress, dislodging blankets and bedsheets as Shiro gets all four limbs around Keith, rolling until the boy is fully pinned beneath him. Keith goes slack, but Shiro has fallen for that trick before, and he does not lessen his hold.

“Keith… Baby- how could you think I don’t want you?”

“You said-” Keith’s voice wavers, dissolving into a pained whimper.

“I said I wanted _you_ to be comfortable. I just want you to feel safe, and have a-” the words come shockingly easily, even though the concept is so, obviously, alien, “-a good heat. I love you, Keith.”

This was definitely not the perfect moment to say that. Shiro’s an idiot.

“Shi-”

“Shhhh.” Shiro is still pinning his best friend down into his bed, legs wrapped tight over his thighs. He tries not to think about how similar the position is to sex. Of course, his dick does not listen to him and immediately swells, nestling into the cleft of Keith’s arse. “I’ll do whatever you need Keith. But only if it’s what _you_ want to do.”

Shiro is pretty secure in the hold he has on Keith, right up until the world is spinning. Up becomes down, down becomes up and Keith is twisting in his arms as though his skeleton is only vaguely aware of the concept of practical physics. Suddenly Shiro has his spine pinned to the mattress, his arms fastened to his sides with Keith’s hands tight around his biceps, and the boy is practically kneeling on his thighs.

“Keith?”

“ _Shiro_.” Keith pants. His eyes are yellow at the edges, his face flushed, and where Shiro stares at the open shape of his lips, he is sure he sees the gleam of fangs. “What exactly, makes you think I don’t want to be doing this with _you_?”

Shiro blinks. And again.

“Wait- what?”

This time, Keith doesn’t bother to respond with words, and simply uses his advantage of being on top to lean in and stick his tongue down Shiro’s throat. It’s an inelegant first kiss, but it is forceful, unapologetic, and very Keith. And it gets his point across. Keith sits up with a contented, prideful little chirrup, and Shiro stares at him.

He had two remaining braincells, and they’ve both fucked off and left him with nothing but his raging libido and traitorous erection.

“Oh.”

“Touch me,” Keith demands, rocking against him, thighs splaying out to cup around Shiro’s hips. “I don’t need a nest. I just need you.”

Shiro should be the responsible one – he is older, has more seniority and a higher rank, and he’s fairly certain he has more experience – but he’s sick of always being the Golden Boy. And Keith is full of barely contained fire above him. Shiro wants to get burned.

Keith yelps as he is flipped, but groans in happy surprise when Shiro’s hands slide up under the hem of his sleep shirt. Keith’s belly jumps under his touch, and Shiro makes a pleased, proud noise in the back of his throat at the evidence of his effect on Keith. He grins, then hooks his fingers into Keith’s sinfully tight leggings and tears them off him. The cloth comes away shredded, and Keith doesn’t look like he minds at all.

“Alpha…”

The word tails off into a purr, rich contentment rising through Keith as his deft fingers divest Shiro of his own clothes in record time. Shiro has no idea what happened to his underwear, he was sure he was wearing some when he left his quarters for the gym. But he doesn’t much care, because Keith is blushing almost lilac and purring, and he is pretty much naked below Shiro, and Shiro cannot look anywhere else.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” Ah, his voice is back. That’s useful. “Fuck… gorgeous.” Shiro skims his hands down over Keith’s thighs, loving the solid curves of muscle under his fingers. He squeezes, then slides his hands up over the points of Keith’s hips, deliberately ignoring his cock, to palm across his belly and up his chest, until a flick across one nipple halts the purr and draws a whine from Keith’s lips instead.

“Sensitive,” he crows softly. “Mmmm…”

“Alpha…” Keith pants, “Shiro-!”

But this is more skin to skin contact than they’ve ever had before, with Keith’s thighs so invitingly parted around him, his hands clutching freely at Shiro’s back and shoulders. Shiro touches Keith’s chest, and Shiro decides he still has time to just appreciate the way his best friend looks almost naked.

Keith is a vision with his hair messy and falling into his face. Shiro pushes it back, dragging the strands through a loose fist and Keith moans, mouth open fully, and _yes,_ he does indeed have fangs. Shiro leans in and licks at one sharp point, pressing his lips into Keith’s and sucking the boy’s tongue into his mouth. Keith arches up against him, spine leaving the bed almost entirely in his quest for more contact, and the action brings their cocks into alignment. Keith ruts up against him and Shiro suddenly never wants the sensation to end.

He slides a hand into the small of Keith’s back, keeping him up off the bed, putting him into a perfect, delightful arch. He wishes Keith had a mirror in his quarters. Shiro bets they look fucking fantastic together. Keith shudders against him.

“Keep going.”

Keith mewls, but his hips roll up again and he drags the length of his cock alongside Shiro’s own, painting a wet streak of pre-come across the taut skin of his belly. Shiro grins.

“Pretty boy,” he rumbles, lips brushing Keith’s ear as he balances the pair of them on one outstretched arm. “Pretty omega.”

The word is like a key to a lock that Shiro wasn’t previously aware needed opening, but the moment he says it, Keith quivers in his hold, heart beating frantically fast as he rocks his hips, seeking friction. Shiro tightens his grip, keeping him close, and the space between them is barely enough to allow Keith movement. Keith snarls, frustrated, wanton, desperate, and Shiro preens with how good it feels to have pulled that noise from him. He drops Keith back onto the bed, pressing a hand over his belly to stop him from rising again, and the aborted roll of Keith’s hips has the tip of his cock brushing the inside of Shiro’s wrist. The temptation to wrap his fingers around the length is almost overwhelming.

“Tell me what you want.” Shiro smirks, leaning in to kiss Keith. Keith whimpers, but he bites Shiro’s lip when Shiro tries to pull back, and the fingers dragging down his back feel more like claws. “Tell me, my sweet omega. What do you want?”

“Nnngh!” Keith strains in his hold, his entire body a tense line of desire. “Need you.”

Shiro revels in the openness of Keith’s request, the honesty, and he smiles, forgetting to respond. Instantly, Keith squirms.

“Please, Alpha. Please, I’ll be good. Please, Alpha-” the sound of Keith begging – not in jest or in play but actually scared that Shiro might deny him, even leave him – snaps Shiro back to himself with a jolt like lightning. He swallows the rest of Keith’s words with a kiss, then sits up, pulling Keith’s hips into his lap.

“Keith…” he rumbles. “Anything you want. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

Keith’s eyes fly open, wide and desperate, the stars within them swirling in a sudden flood of unshed tears. Shiro hates that he caused this panic, even if it is only momentary. He pulls Keith up by his shirt, tucking him against his chest as Keith’s legs wrap around his waist, and peppers his face with kisses. It’s not until Keith starts to purr and Shiro is sure his actions have worked, that Shiro allows them both to sink back into the mattress.

“That’s better. My sweet, perfect omega.” Keith preens under the praise. “So good for me, so…” Shiro grins, biting his lip as the idea comes to him. “So _bendy_.”

It takes no time at all for Keith to catch on, and then his leg is hooked up practically over Shiro’s shoulder even as Shiro leans all his weight down over Keith. The kiss distracts him from everything else, just for a moment, until the press of their bodies has the head of Shiro’s cock dragging up the back of Keith’s thigh and the sweet curve of his arse to where he is-

“Wet.” Shiro blinks, thrusting his hips forward in a completely unnecessary gesture to check that what he feels against his sensitive foreskin is actually real. And it is. “You’re all wet, baby.”

Keith mewls, arching, trying to press himself closer. Shiro leans up, keeping Keith’s bent leg pinned against his chest, and stares at the intimate flesh where his cock rests, scant inches shy of his target. Keith’s skin is shiny with slick, and Shiro can’t help but get a hand around himself in order to drag his cockhead through the natural lubricant which – he quickly realises – can only be coming from Keith. When he smears the tip of his cock around Keith’s rim, pushing and tugging at the muscle in tiny increments, he watches another droplet leak out to be spread directly onto his flesh instead of Keith’s. Shiro remembers – vaguely – something about heat and slick during his research, but it never seemed relevant, and he didn’t pay that much attention.

Now it seems incredibly fucking relevant.

“Is that for me?”

Keith mewls. Shiro smirks, swirling the tip of his cock around Keith’s entrance, not touching the quivering pucker of flesh that he knows Keith wants him too.

“I said, is that for me, omega?”

The noise Keith makes – a soft, perfect little trill of desire – shortcuts directly through his frontal cortex to fry whatever was left of his brain.

“Please-!” Keith reaches for him, sharp-tipped fingers wrapping around the back of Shiro’s neck to haul him down until their lips crash together. The kiss is all tongue and teeth and Shiro can’t help the way he nips and bites in return. If anything, he’s the one who feels feral. _“Shiro…”_

“I got you, baby.” Shiro is quick to soothe Keith’s desperate whimper as he rocks his hips again, delighting in the wet slide of skin on skin. “My pretty omega.”

Keith trills again, arching against him, and Shiro’s famous patience is nowhere to be found. He changes to grip around each of Keith’s thighs, pulling both legs up to his chest, and Keith moans eagerly as he is bent in half. Shiro groans at the sight presented to him, positions himself, and the pair of them cry out wordlessly, as Shiro sinks down in one long, perfectly smooth slide.

Seated up the root in Keith is a place he has imagined being many, many times, and Shiro knows there is a reason he’s a pilot and not a creative: his imagination sucks. The reality of fucking Keith is so far beyond everything he ever let himself think about in bed, or in the shower – or in meetings – that it may as well be on a different planet in a different galaxy. Keith is hot and tight and utterly perfect around him – and none of those adjectives even come close to describing the sensation Shiro experiences as he draws back, keeping Keith pinned below him, and thrusts back in again.

“Baby…” Shiro can hardly tear his eyes away from Keith’s face to look at the frankly pornographic sight of the way their bodies join together. “Keith…”

“More.” Keith demands, eyes fierce and determined even though his voice is shaky. “Alpha!”

Shiro is no alpha, he barley even knows what an alpha is – but then, he barely remembers his own name, only that it’s important to Keith. No one better ask him for the basic lift equation anytime soon, because all Shiro’s brain will allow him to think is that Shiro plus Keith equals the best sex he’s ever had, with his best friend who he loves. Little else seems to matter. Shiro grinds in deep with his next thrust, and is rewarded with Keith’s claws raking with a prickle of highly pleasurable pain across his shoulder.

Stars, he bets they’d make fucking amazing porn. He really wishes there was a mirror in here.

“Keith… Keith, look at me.”

In between thrusts, Keith pulls himself back to the present, his eyes narrowing as he focuses, and Shiro wonders if his vision is much different now that his eyes are golden and his pupils are mere slits. He stills the action of his hips, and Keith whines, trying to arch and wriggle, but pinned by the bruising grip Shiro has around his thighs. Shiro smirks, holding himself back, just the head if his cock still keeping Keith open and ready, and Keith wraps his fingers into Shiro’s pale floof and pulls him down for another teeth-clacking kiss.

“Keith… so pretty.”

Keith snarls, even though Shiro can see him blush. Even half fucked out, he’s still bad at taking praise.

“Keith. I love you.”

Keith goes rigid beneath him, eyes wide, and then the universe is tipping again, gravity shifting around him as Keith surges forward – how Shiro does not know – pushing Shiro back into the bed and kissing him over and over with barely any space to breathe. It’s all Shiro can do to hang on, with one hand on Keith’s trim waist, the other settling into the familiar curve between neck and shoulder. Keith presses more and more kisses against his open mouth, and Shiro thinks he would happily drown in them.

“Shiro… ahh!” Keith rolls his hips, bringing them flush together once more. “Nngh! Shiro… I love you too.”

“Keith?” Shiro can hardly believe what he’s hearing. The little sensible voice in the back of his brain raises its metaphorical head, telling him that this is absolutely the very worst timing for a confession of the heart, in the entire history of the universe. _“Keith…”_

“It was always you, Shiro.” How Keith can sound so normal and at ease with all of Shiro’s inches buried inside him, Shiro doesn’t know. He can barely string two breaths together, let alone a whole sentence. “Of course, it was always you. I’m all yours.”

“Oh… fuck.” Shiro stares at him, and then, because his brain is now completely and utterly fried, he bucks up so that his hips smack into Keith’s arse with a slick, lewd noise. “Keith-!”

Keith only grins, bright eyed and sharp toothed, before closing in for another kiss. Shiro fits his hands around Keith’s hips, and pulls the boy down into his lap. He knows he’s not going to hold out much longer, but he’d rather jump out of an airlock in the upper stratosphere than come before he’s made Keith do the same.

“So pretty, baby.” Ah, there’s his voice. “Fuck, Keith. You feel so fucking good.” Keith is blushing again, panting as Shiro praises him. “The best omega. Mine.”

“Yes-!” Keith whines, lifting himself away only for Shiro to fuck up into him, keeping them tight together with his grip on Keith’s hips.

“That’s right. Mine. My omega.” Keith’s full body shiver only emboldens him, and Shiro growls. “Gonna show me how pretty you are when you come on your alpha’s cock?”

Even more than before, the words are like magic. Keith arches, the curve of his spine and the way his arms loop behind his head showing off every single, mouth-watering line of his body, and he makes a noise Shiro can only describe as a yowl.

“That’s it. Good boy.”

“Shi-!” Keith pants, and then he shudders, pretty purple-flushed cock pulsing as he spills his orgasm out between them, painting Shiro’s abs with his come. Shiro grins.

“Best omega,” he repeats, his brain fully snagged on the vision of Keith’s cock, now dribbling the last of his orgasm out directly onto his belly. “My omega. My perfect Keith.”

Shiro didn’t think it was possible for anyone to still have enough spare blood to blush, but Keith manages. He is prettier than ever.

“All yours baby,” Shiro catches Keith’s jaw with one hand, wishing they were close enough to kiss again. “I’m all yours.”

“Fuck- Shiro-!”

Shiro manages another three thrusts into the tight, overwhelming clutch of Keith’s sensitive body, before he loses all control. He holds Keith tight against him, knowing his grip is punishingly tight, and grinds his teeth as he comes as deep inside Keith as he is able. He can barely even see, let alone say something sexy or useful.

It feels like a very long time before Shiro is able to breathe and have his eyes open at the same time.

Keith is still radiant above him, sweat-soaked and smiling blissfully, his lips kiss-bitten red and his cheeks flushed lilac. Shiro can’t help but reach up and stroke the curve of his jaw, cradling his face.

“You’re so beautiful, Keith.”

“Shiro…”

“Shhh… I get to compliment you as much as I like when we’re fucking.”

“Oh, is that a rule now?” Keith’s lips turn up at the corner, the hint of one of his trademark, determined-to-win smiles. Shiro cannot help but smile back.

“Yeah it is.” Shiro glances down between them. They are both a mess, and his chest is littered with the little red marks left by Keith’s claws, but Keith is hard again – or still hard – Shiro isn’t sure which because he’s fairly certain he blacked out for a while earlier. “You wanna go again, baby?”

Keith trills at the pet-name, wiggling his hips with an unmistakable desire for more. Shiro groans happily.

“Stars… I love being yours.”

Keith’s eyes go wide and round. Shiro weaves his fingers into Keith’s hair as they kiss, rubbing little circles against his scalp until the boy above and around him begins to vibrate with another rich, wonderful purr.

The one thing Shiro does remember from his research, is that for Galra affected by them, heats take a couple of days to pass. They’re going to have to send out for food and water, and someone in the chain of command is going to be pissed that the Captain of the Atlas Fleet and the Delegate to the Blade of Marmora are going to both be on emergency leave, but Shiro doesn’t care.

There’s no better place to be than with Keith in his lap, purring away like a contented lion, and Shiro is definitely going to make sure his best friend knows exactly how much he is adored.

Even if it takes all weekend.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come chat with us on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SashaDistan)
> 
> This author responds to comments.
> 
> Thank you to the incredible [Lole](https://twitter.com/@leandralena) for being an awesome beta reader.


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